Disturbed

I am just trying to have a coffee and do some work. A young lad with what seems to be extremely severe Tourette's, or maybe something else, is gyrating and wailing unceasingly beside me. This is, of course, disturbing, but the young girl who is with him - perhaps a sister - just sits patiently trying to drink her own coffee with a look on her face that seems to me to express casual but tired resignation. Such a tragedy of developmental biology gone awry, which she, I suspect, must have coped with for long, and will probably cope with for long to come. I, on the other hand, can soon walk away. I take no comfort in that. ... Oh... they have gone now, leaving two empty chairs beside my troubled mind, which is shamefully pondering the pathetically petty problems that so often disturb me.